


Hunter's nights

by Electric_Monet



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Bloodborne, Peter is a mess, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25341751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Electric_Monet/pseuds/Electric_Monet
Summary: What happens during/after Peter's hunts.Tags will be updated as the story progresses
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Hunter's nights

**Author's Note:**

> Tw: blood, gore, suicidal thoughts, self harm
> 
> Tell me if i missed anything.
> 
> To be honest, i was in a really bad mood when i wrote this. As always all mistakes are mine, English isn't my first language and constructive criticism is always welcomed.

He brought down his axe again, again and again on to it until all that was left of the now-dead-beast was a pulp consisted of blood, organs and teeth. It wouldn't get up again, that was a given. This one was a lot harder to kill than the others, its long limbs we're almost too fast for him to keep up with it and its attacks were swift and powerful. He was lucky this time, he ought to be more careful the next.

The hunter's breath produced thick white clouds of moisture around his face. Too cold was the warehouse, inhabited by a creeping sense of dread. How he longed for a cigarette in that moment for its smoke to bring warmth in his gut. The freezing October air around him caressed his body like a lover, making his hair stand up. He had to get out of this place but there were other matters in hand.

Looking around the old abandoned warehouse he saw nothing but corpses upon corpses of the disfigured beasts be had killed. The blood run plenty licking his boots, staining his clothes, marking his face. There was nothing left to do but to burn it all down and cleanse the souls of the innocent victims of this hell sent affliction, that's the least he could offer them. 

He piled the bodies together in the centre of the room, drenched them in gasoline and peppered them with sage so as to cover the scent of rotting flesh once all was starting to burn down.

'I'm sorry', he wanted to say, 'I'm sorry for being so late, I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough, I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough, I'm sorry', but he couldn't for he knew tears would soon follow and he would fall apart on the spot. 

All this mess could have been prevented.

He lit up a match and threw it at the pile. 

'Here lie the results of Peter Vincent's mistakes, may they hunt him for the rest of his days'

The hunter stood near the pyre. Oh, how he wished he could feel the warmth of the fire, to plunge himself into the inferno and sense its jaws ripping his skin off of him, tearing his bones, consuming him, leaving nothing but his ashes. But that would mean an end to his living nightmare and he wasn't ready to depart from it. 

…

He could still see the smoke rising up to the skies even if he were miles and miles away from the warehouse. He liked to believe that the souls of the martyrs were accenting to the heavens, even if he wasn't religious. 

He entered the small apartment he rented as a safe house and once the door was closed and locked he went to the bathroom. He didn't bother to look at the mirror, it wouldn't be that much of use this time. If he dared to look at it, he would have to come to terms with what he had done...

He placed his duffle bag in the sink and retrieved all the tools he had used that night. Cleaning them wouldn't take that long, all they needed was dish soap, anti-rust spray and a good wipe down, nothing much. Routine stuff and he needed a routine.

The axe was heavy in his hand, after so many years of searching for the right runes and experimenting on it, it was bound to have accumulated some weight. The things he had killed with this weapon would put any mythical creature to shame. The horrors still haunted his dreams.

Once all equipment was cleaned he moved on to his clothes that looked more like rags that had been dragged through fire and mud. Despite his outfit being made up of mostly leather plus having a cape to wipe away the blood it still stained but he made his peace with the fact that it will never be fully clean again. He through it in the washing machine and set it to a delicate cycle with cold water.

Still facing away from the mirror, he took a shower to get rid of the stench and filth that covered him but no matter what he did they still remained on him. He scrubbed his skin harder, used hotter water yet he could still feel them sticking onto him. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until it wasn't enough and used his nails to scratch it all away. The blood was everywhere, he was swimming in it, he couldn't get it off. He was baptized in it from an early age, like a true hunter. First, it was his parents' blood, then his girlfriend's, then...then...then…

No, no, no, get it off, get it off, get it off.

Harder

Faster

Harder

Faster 

What if he was the monster? How could he be sure all those year hunting beasts didn't turn him into one? He had spilt rivers upon rivers of blood, enough to paint all the roads red, what made him different? Did he still have his humanity in him or was it all a lie he told himself to satisfy his own bloodlust.?

An inhuman screech escaped his lips and he fell to his knees. It was all pointless. He was a sorry excuse of a hunter.

Peter turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He didn't bother drying himself or clean the blood that oozed from the new cuts on his chest and neck, he just laid down on his bed, closed his eyes and for the first time in a while, he wept until the morning came.

**Author's Note:**

> That was a wild ride, i hope, thank you for reading!!!  
> Kudos and comments keep me fighting!!!!!


End file.
